History of the Heart
by How Clever of You
Summary: He's at a Headstones concert in the city the first time he sees her. Two days later, he picks her up at the door of her apartment. / Ed/Sophie, with a dash of Wordy/Shelley.


**Going to apologize, quick, about any mistakes/spelling errors/tense problems/etc. that crop up. Feel free to point them out! I reread this earlier (I've been writing it for a few weeks), hoping I was done, and realized that I wrote about Clark's birth. Twice. So then I had to go back and make up a new ending and omg. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Only a few more days until Team One is back in the US :)**

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><p>He's at a Headstones concert in the city the first time he sees her. She's sitting a few rows down, her dark hair pulled up in a messy ponytail. Her red dress is short and form-fitting and she's got on a charm bracelet. A blonde girl is holding her hand and they're dancing, singing along with music.<p>

Ed nudges Wordy – his friend and police academy classmate – and points. Wordy cranes his neck to see and grins.

"Real pretty," he says, smoothing down what little hair he has. It's been a while since he's shaved. "You want to pick 'em up?"

Todd, the guy who got them the tickets, overhears them. "Bros before hoes, my men." By the look on his face, he is about to use getting them there as an excuse to deprive one of them the opportunity to talk to the girls. Ed cuts him off before he can open his mouth.

"We'll be right back." He and Wordy make their way down the row to the aisle, squeezing past a pair of drunken men, then a few sets of stairs down. Ed points to show the guy on the first seat where he wants to go and gets high-fived. He has his buddies shift down a little so they can sit next to the girls.

"You get the blonde," Ed calls over his shoulder.

"I was going to talk to her either way," Wordy shouts back.

Ed has learned the hard way not just go up and touch a girl's shoulder, so he leans in front of her to get her attention. They both move back against their fold-up seats to let them pass, but Ed shakes his head.

"I'm Ed," he says over the music. He gestures over his shoulder: "And this is Kevin."

"Call me Wordy," he corrects, and tilts his head to the side. "You look familiar." The blonde raises her eyebrows; then it clicks. "You live on my block! You're one of the Wargin girls. Shelley, right?"

"Kevin Wordsworth." She smiles with recognition. "Your mom made the cake for my wedding."

"Congrats on that, by the way," he says, and Ed can see his disappointment, even when she thanks him.

"What about you?" The darker haired girl looks away from the stage and gives Ed a look like _oh, you're still here?_ She's got on stark red lipstick and Ed cannot stop staring at her eyes. "Are you married?"

She waves her naked fingers at him as a response. "Sophie." She shakes his hand. "You from around here?"

"Police academy." Her eyebrow arches and she looks vaguely impressed. He's subconsciously aware of Wordy moving past him to talk to Shelley, but he's too caught up in those brown eyes to notice much else.

"I go to community college," she says. "Significantly less exciting, unless you count that frosting incident last week."

"Oh?" He's close to her, close enough to see she's got a tiny ruby pierced through the cartilage of her ear.

"Five hundred cupcakes." She's grinning at him because she knows exactly how much she's affecting him. Her breath is warm on his cheek. "And not enough frosting."

He opens his mouth but can't think of anything witty or charming to say. He laughs instead, ducking his head, his ears coloring pink. He can feel the blush and, without his hair, he knows she notices it, too. She smiles even wider and touches his shoulder.

"Want to dance?"

Two days later, he picks her up at the door of her apartment. This time, she has on a skirt and a pink blouse, and her hair is falling down in ringlets. Ed thinks she looks beautiful and tells her so. She smiles and lets her fingers drift across his cheek.

He takes her to dinner at a high-end French restaurant. The only reason he can even step foot in this place is because one of his police academy buddies, Warren, his father owns the place. He doesn't tell Sophie this; instead, he tells her to order anything. She smiles, takes a sip of her water, and says, "You've got a coupon."

"I do not!" He acts scandalized, but passes his hand over his mouth to hide the grin.

"Excuse me for saying, but." She leans across the table while underneath, her ankle finds his. "You just don't seem the type of guy who can afford restaurants like this."

"What type of guy do you think I am, then?" She's grinning, her lips curling around her reply, when her cell phone rings. She puts up her finger and reaches into her purse. She's still giving him those eyes, even when she says "Hello?" into the phone.

Ed can immediately tell something is wrong; both the look on her face and the panicked voice from the other end of the wire tip him off. Sophie is listening intently, interjecting with "Sweetie, sweetie, calm down. It's going to be okay. Are you home?"

She gets up suddenly, her coat in her arms, and clicks her phone off. "I need a ride," she says. She's the picture of calm, even as he drops a note on the table that informs the waiter of his connections and leads her outside.

"What happened?" He opens the passenger door for her and she slides in, looking concerned. He crosses around to the other side, sits down, and locks the key into the ignition. "Is everything okay?"

"No, uh –" She wipes a hand across her face. "My friend, remember her from the concert? She's in trouble; I need to get to her. Now."

"Does she still live on Creek?"

Sophie nods, but she's looking at him strange, like she's trying to figure out how he knows this. He attempts to ignore the butterflies that erupt in his stomach when her gaze is on him. Instead, he focuses on the weight of his foot on the gas and the dim streetlights barely illuminating the street signs. Finally, finally, he pulls down Creek.

"My best friend lives here, too," he says as a way of explanation, and she nods.

"Kevin," she acknowledges. "From the concert."

"Wordy," he corrects, but nods. "Yeah."

"Shelley's been talking about him a lot lately. They go way back."

Ed frowned. "I don't think he's ever mentioned her before. Which house is it?"

She points to a two-story Victorian, three doors down and across the street from Wordy's. He parks out front and exits the car with the intent of opening his date's door, but she's already out and across the grass. He follows her up the walkway; he knows he should leave her be, but there's something mystical about the way she walks that puts him under some sort of sick love trance.

Sophie bangs on the door until Shelley answers. She's been crying, her face swollen on one side and cut up on the other. Ed's stomach drops to his toes and he doesn't know what to say. Instead, he just stands on the front stoop, watching.

Sophie rubs her best friend on the shoulder soothingly, murmuring calming words. Once again, he's struck by how beautiful she is. She turns, then, and leans forward to kiss his cheek. "Thank you," she mouths, pressing Shelley forward into the foyer, and eases the front door shut.

She calls the next morning, assuring him everything is okay. She asks to see him again.

He loses count of those cliché firsts that Wordy had always been so wrapped up in. He doesn't remember the first time they hold hands or the first time she made him smile or even the first time they kissed. He remembers, though, vividly, the first time she says _I love you._

They're sitting on a park bench along the river, finishing their lunch. He buys her a BLTA (which, he learns, actually exist), an orange soda, and a Snickers bar. He watches her share the breadcrumbs of her sandwich with the birds; they group around her feet until she lifts her arm again, ready to toss out another handful. Then they scatter.

She's laughing about something he says, her head thrown back and her mouth open wide. His own chuckles die out and he just listens to the sweet melody of her voice as she brings herself back down to earth. She starts to tell him a story, something about an internship she had at a bakery when she was fifteen, when she stops suddenly, mid-sentence.

He opens his eyes to see her peering at him, a curious smile on his face.

"What?" he asks.

"I love you," she says, simply as if he'd just asked the time. It takes several beats for him to process, but then he's kissing her, whispering those three words against her lips, over and over and over.

He hears from both her and Wordy about Shelley and her abusive husband. He learns how they met – the only two kids in Sociology I – and how they fell apart. He hears about the cuts and the bruises and the broken ribs and all the gruesome details of a love gone wrong.

Sophie is worried about her; she's been urging her friend to leave the marriage. Wordy is worried about himself; he's falling in love with her, and he can't stop it.

Wordy ends up saving her. Ed has always been astounded at how fairytales follow in Wordy's footsteps. The man practically bleeds butterflies and rainbows, so it was no surprise when he swept the lady off her feet and defeated the evil prince (or, in reality, found enough evidence to make charges against her ex stick).

Four months after this, Ed finds himself down on one knee in the living room of his crappy apartment, amid piles of dirty laundry and mismatched pieces of a gun cleaning kit. He asks if she'll marry a cop. She says yes.

The wedding takes a toll on them both, and they fight like crazy. Ed finds himself getting short with his bride, crashing his fists into the table mid-argument because there is no way in _hell _the flowers are going to be yellow.

There's a lot of crying and slammed doors and stress. Ed realizes, though, one day, as he's sitting on the porch with Wordy and a six pack of beer, that this is who they are. They're both strong and stubborn and so, very sickeningly in love. It's either going to work out or it's going to fall to pieces, but it's up to him to decide which it's going to be.

With shouts of "Hey, where are you going?" following him, Ed races off the porch and down the street, straight through Shelley's front door. The two women are sitting at the island going over bridesmaid dresses for the umpteenth time. Ed walks right up to his fiancée and kisses her.

She's a little stunned and a lot happy. He rambles on and on about how she can have those yellow flowers and buttercream frosting on the cake. Sure, put red on the wedding dress; _it's your day. _He's sure he sounds insane, like some clichéd version of a soap opera or a chick flick, but he means every word. He didn't care about any of it; all that mattered to him is that she's going to be there, standing across from him, in front of everyone.

A week before the wedding, Ed comes home from work to find Sophie at the kitchen table, five positive pregnancy tests in front of her. He drops his duffle in the doorway and approaches the table in complete shock. She's expressionless, ready to mirror what he's feeling. They haven't discussed this, not yet.

He has never been more ecstatic in his entire life. Not when he sailed through sophomore year riding on his straight A's; not when he was accepted into the police academy; not when his brother gave him ten grand just for being there for him; not even when he met Kevin James Wordsworth.

He scoops her up and twirls her around, careful not to knock her into the island. She laughs and kisses him, and they spend the night in bed, cups of tea on the bedside tables, looking through baby pictures of themselves, trying to determine what their child would look like. His hands keep finding her stomach, still flat, and wondering just how their life is going to change.

Much to her relief, she fits into the dress. She walks down the aisle in her mother's gown, a bouquet of pink flowers in her hands. Her niece and nephew are ring bearer and flower girl; her mother is Maid of Honor. Wordy is Ed's best man, of course, and nudges him in the shoulder when the chapel doors open, revealing his bride.

She doesn't drink Champaign, but nobody notices. The band is loud and there's so much talking and laughter and dancing and love that Ed gets a headache and heads out to the balcony halfway through, leaving the new Mrs. Lane to meet an assortment of her husband's cousins. Wordy joins him and they lean against the railing, staring out at the skyline.

"Congratulations," his best friend says. Ed looks at him and knows he isn't talking about the wedding. He starts to grin despite himself and Wordy smiles, too, clapping him on the shoulder. "I better be godfather."

"No way in hell," he responds. "You? A godfather? I don't even know if you're fit to be a normal father."

Wordy shakes his head and stares at the floor, his hands dropped deep into the pockets of his suit. Finally, after several minutes of silence, save for the loud music leaking through the glass windows, he says "I think I'm gonna ask Shelley to marry me."

Ed wants to say "Way to take the limelight," but settles on "Really?"

He nods. "You and Sophie have been married five seconds and I already want everything you guys have. I knew, the first time I saw you look at her at that concert – I knew exactly what was gonna happen."

"Oh?"

"Mmm. I knew you were gonna fall head-over-heels for her. I knew she would charm your pants off with that wit and sarcasm. I knew you were gonna get married and I was gonna be your best man." He shakes his head. "You've got the whole thing. Even the baby, and he's not even here yet."

"He," Ed says. He falls silent. "What if I have a son?"

Wordy stands up straight and puts his hands on Ed's shoulders, looking him in the face. "Ed," he says seriously. "If you have a son, he's going to kick ass."

They take a vacation, that summer, to Puerto Rico. Sophie somehow pulls off a swimsuit with her round stomach; he's not the only one checking her out when she goes to the bar for a virgin daiquiri. They spend the days on the beach in the sun or in the pool; the nights pass on the rooftops, and they watch the stars from the hotel room window.

Two days before the vacation ends, he's called into work. She's disappointed, wants to come home with him, but he insists she stays and hangs out with some of the natives she's befriended. She agrees, warily, and he kisses both her and her belly goodbye at the airport.

The work call turns out to be a bunch of paperwork that could've waited until his vacation ended. He gets mad and storms out, calls her on his way home to see how she's doing. He feigns busyness and listens to her talk about the sunset. She promises she'll be home soon and they hang up.

He's getting lunch the day she comes home when he gets the call. It's her cell phone, but it's not her voice – the man sounds panicked, though, shouting about how they had just been sitting there at the terminal when her water broke, and he's called the hospital but he doesn't know what to do in the meantime. At this point, Sophie takes the phone back and starts to cry, apologizing loudly about nothing. He tells her to calm down, everything's all right, and speeds through Taco Bell's drive through without picking up his food.

He doesn't make it to Chicago in time. His son has been breathing for an hour when he lands, ninety minutes when he runs through the doors. He's so angry at himself, but he doesn't focus on that – the only thing he needs, right now, is to see his wife.

Sophie looks good for having gone through a premature C-section. She starts to cry when she sees him, but it's out of relief. She clings to him and whispers "He's beautiful, he's so beautiful" over and over until Ed excuses himself to go to the nursery.

He has a hard time locating the baby – they all look the same – but a kindly nurse presses her finger against the glass. "Baby boy Lane is on the left," she tells him, and it dawns on him that he's still wearing his uniform. He nods his thanks and leans against the glass.

He's so tiny, his little fists clenched against his chest. He's got a lot of caramel colored hair – something he obviously didn't get from his father. It's hard to tell from this distance, but he thinks he sees Sophie's mouth, maybe his own nose. He stares for another few minutes, trying to keep his calm mask on (but struggling), when another man joins him at the window.

"Which one's yours?" he asks. Ed points. "Mine's right there." He's obviously been there before because he knows exactly where his crib his daughter is in. He's smiling proudly.

"He was born a month before due," Ed tells him. He doesn't know why he's talking like this to a stranger; maybe talking down that gunman last week, the one with the newborn, had softened him a bit. "We don't even live here. She was coming back from a vacation, and I got the call in Toronto…"

He goes back to Sophie's room after a few more minutes of meaningless chatter with the other father. She's dozing off but lifts her head when he comes in. She smiles, still sweat-slicked, and says "Hey, Daddy."

He stops for a minute, his heart pounding in his chest, and he takes that in. He's a father. He hums, pushing down the rising panic and bubbling excitement. "Let's name him after your father."

"Clark," she whispers, and nods. He smoothes back her hair, kisses her forehead, and watches her fall asleep.

Two months later, Clark's godfather gets married. Ed is Best Man and Sophie is Maid of Honor. Shelley and Wordy get married in his backyard, across the street and three doors down from where her old life used to be. She doesn't look back, not once, as she follows the gravel path to the man who had shown her a new beginning. Ed is grinning like a fool because Wordy's got that look in his eye, that head over heels twinkle he sees in his own eyes every time he catches his reflection.

Joanna Parker works with Sophie at the bakery. She brings her son Dean and husband Greg over on a weekly basis. Ed gets along with Greg and Dean and Clark become fast friends. It isn't until she leaves, however, that Ed sees the weak side of Greg. He's too far in, however, to back out now, so he stays loyal to his new friend and supports him through such a dark time.

Greg heals himself by joining the SRU. Sophie suggests he follow; adventure and danger has always been his thing, after all. They celebrate when he gets accepted onto Team One, and have a full-out party when Wordy joins, too. They work side-by-side with Sargent Tim Wilcoxen, David MacBeth, Greg Parker, Pete Raffone, and R.J. Daniels.

The long hours put a strain on his marriage, but Ed pushes through. Sophie supports him every step of the way, the ever loyal wife. She excuses him when he has to work late; holds him as he's haunted by the nightmares Scorpio inevitably brings; and breaks him down enough to crack that façade, letting him speak his mind and feel the feelings he has been hiding. It's because of her that he knows not to try and dull his senses.

She understands him, one hundred percent, problems and all. Always has. She excuses him for leaving the toilet seat up; she learns, the hard way, that he's allergic to shellfish; he bends the spines of books too far back so they pop back open when left on their own; and he comes with his own family baggage. The biggest of that, earning a cargo hold for itself, is his brother Roy.

He's messy and arrogant and he doesn't follow directions. He has no table manners and is disrespectful, rude, and untrustworthy. He makes stupid decisions and gets caught up in things he shouldn't be sticking his nose in in the first place. Ed hates him with a burning passion, but loves him because he's flesh and blood. He doesn't admit this, ever, but Sophie knows it's true.

Two months after Ed joins the SRU, Roy asks to crash on their couch, using "I'm your brother" as his only explanation. Sophie talks Ed into letting him stay, even if he does annoy her to the point where she has to go out driving to cool off. She passes this off as helping Clark fall asleep, though, and doesn't let on to her impatience. She really prizes family (she has two brothers of her own, plus a step-sister) and says she can finally get to know her brother-in-law.

Dates nights, established early into their marriage, happen once a week. Fridays take one, then Mondays every other week. It's usually a little bit of wine (sparkling grape juice as Sophie's belly starts to swell) and dinner, sometimes followed by a movie or cuddling in the hammock, just watching the stars and enjoying the warmth of the night.

These nights interfere with Roy's schedule, though. Without asking first, or even mentioning it at breakfast, he invites his cop buddies over to play poker at the kitchen table. They get loud and drunk every time, and something usually ends up breaking, whether it's a vase, a mug, or, on one occasion, a family heirloom from Sophie's great-grandmother.

He doesn't even acknowledge that he's being rude. He just snores on the couch late into the morning in nothing but his boxers, drooling on the pillows and making the couch smell with his sweat. Finally, Sophie has enough and chases him out of the house with a broom. She shouts some insults in mixed languages before storming back inside.

Ed watches from the window and stares when she comes back in. He doesn't even know what to say, so he just keeps his eyes on her. She blows a strand of hair from her face and says "Pack up his crap and make sure every piece of evidence of his existence is gone from this house by the time I get out of the bathtub."

They fight a lot over the years. The threat of her leaving him is constant. The first time she yells this at him, it's enough to have reality crash back down. He catches his breath and shakes his head, clears up whatever stupid thing they were arguing about. He starts to catch on, though, eventually, and doesn't take it as hard next time. That's why, just before Isabel is born, it throws him off balance that he was actually going home to no one.

The arguments they have are always, always resolved quickly. The damage, though, is deeper than they originally suspect – when Ed finds a six year old Clark one night, after one of their fights, crying underneath the blankets, he brings it up with Sophie. They fight quietly from then on, or outside, or not at all.

He loves her, though, imperfections and all. He loves the way she eats her corn (no particular pattern), how she takes the ends of bread and tosses them out into the backyard for the birds, when she mumbles in her sleep. He likes that's she stubborn and insecure, strong and funny, but sweet and kind and gentle and warm. She loves Siamese cats and Golden Retrievers, but dislikes birds (in the house, at the very least). Her favorite animal at the zoo is the lion and she likes strawberry ice cream with chocolate bits and lemon-chamomile tea.

He knows more about her than he'll admit to her, ever. He listens to what she's saying even if he's not in the conversation; it puts his rusty Spanish to good work when she's on the phone with her mother. She's the one person he can turn to for anything and everything, the one he can just sit with and _be_. He's completely head-over-heels for her, still, even years and years after. He loves her with everything he has, and he doesn't think he'll ever stop.


End file.
